


The Sleepy Fox Cafe

by norahshipsdrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee Shop, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-11-18 05:53:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norahshipsdrarry/pseuds/norahshipsdrarry
Summary: When Harry put his mind to writing he often found that all he needed was a good cup of coffee, relaxed, but not silent, surroundings and the right idea to get the ball rolling. An unusual meeting in a coffee shop changes all of this.Currently unrated but subject to change.





	1. A safe choice

When Harry put his mind to writing he often found that all he needed was a good cup of coffee, relaxed, but not silent, surroundings and the right idea to get the ball rolling.

Today, however, was not one of those days, he’d left the room he kept rented in the Leaky Cauldron at as early as quarter past eight in the morning. Apparating into the outskirts of London, he headed into a quiet muggle area which he prefered, never really enjoying the hustle and bustle of the city central or the overbearing crowds that would still gather surrounding him in wizarding London. 

It had been several years since the war and not far off a year since the trials ended. It was rough watching and having to take an active part in convicting so many people, who must, Harry imagined, have been though just as much as anybody else in the years prior. But at least it had come to an end, Harry had returned Draco’s wand and had had a new one made. He had finished things with Ginny, who had thankfully taken it well, and agreed with him that things just weren’t working between them anymore.

The rain beat down around him, soaking through his coat regardless of the umbrella he was holding. The puddles he walked around left him hopping around the pavement, a little boy in a yellow raincoat copied him from across the road. Harry smiled at the boy, at his naiveness and unknown consideration for the parents who he assumed would end up cleaning his shoes otherwise. The town itself was small and full of old buildings, quaint cottages and symmetrical houses, on a Sunday morning they had markets on the main street, on every second Wednesday of the month a church and school choir performed a few songs each for the public. 

The bell over the door jingled as he pushed it open. The Sleepy Fox Cafe had always been a safe choice for places he knew where he could sit and work on whatever he fancied. Not only that but they served fantastic cups of coffee. Welcoming faces met him as he walked in, the heat battling away at the cold that had swept in with him. He ordered a cappuccino at the till and sat down in the back corner next to a window, Harry hung his coat on the back of the other chair and leant his umbrella against it too. Three old ladies were bickering at a round table in the middle of the room,  a young couple sat in a booth closer to the door, eating cake from each others spoons, and other than the girl behind the counter (and himself) that was it. Harry opened his notebook and got out a pen from his back pocket.

Harry wrote under a pen name short stories and poems for muggles, focusing on some of the places he had been during the war. He wrote about the tall, bare trees in the Forest of Dean, he wrote about the ruins of walls surrounding a castle, and the warm knitted jumpers he received every Christmas. Only one work had been published so far by ‘William Prescott’, it hadn’t sold well, but Harry wasn’t sure he really wanted it too, if he had he would have used his real name. After all it was the amalgamation of all his thoughts and emotions laid out on paper not something he was sure he would like the general public to know so openly.

His friends had also started new jobs, or had went back to finish their NEWTs. Harry had considered doing that but the effort of relearning the theories behind the magic he knew didn’t sound very appealing anymore. Hermione had taken a job in the ministry and was working under Kingsley Shacklebolt while supporting various charities. Ron had trained properly as an Auror, but had opted to teach new recruits. Neville was one of those to go back and finish his NEWTs, and now he was shadowing Professor Grubbly Plank hoping to become the next Professor of Herbology. Ginny was Captain of the Hollyhead Harpies and Luna had taken over her Dad’s place for the Quibbler. Hermione, Ron and all his friends seemed to follow a predictable course. Harry wondered why he was different but shrugged off the thought. Other than his close group of friends he found it hard to remember what his other classmates were doing, everyone had gone in their own different directions, just like he had. He suspected they all thought he was doing something important, or was just living off the money he had received after the war. Harry had attended Ministry events and balls in the beginning, but they had seemed pointless and had stopped going to them, he still got the invited through no matter how much he protested to Hermione about it.

His pen fell to the paper and he scribbled down the date as he normally would, he went to start writing, but there was nothing. Usually inspiration would hit him almost instantly. He sighed and stared out the window, had he really ran out of things to write about? What do you write when you can’t think of anything to write? Questions floated around in his head as he daydreamed. Countless minutes past by and only the jingle of the door made Harry come to his senses. He looked up from his blank page and found himself unable to look away again.


	2. Overly happy on such a rainy day

_ Malfoy?  _ He asked himself eyes squinting. His hand automatically moving to his hair, dragging his fingers through the front as if moving it away from his forehead would make him be able to see better. He really did need to have his eye sight looked at but there was something nerve wracking about having someone examine your eyes, they may find the defect and it be much worse than expected. The anxiety held this over him, and he decided that it could wait for at least a few more years or until it got significantly worse.

The blonde stood still for several seconds before trying to make out that he didn’t recognise Harry at all and headed round to the back of the shop. Harry’s eyes were given a small chance to wander over him as he walked. His hair was scraped back into a pony, it had grown since he last saw him, and looked uncut and unstyled. It made Harry question if it actually was Malfoy, but the hair itself looked just as blonde as he remembered. He was dressed in all black, a green collar poking out from the jumper he wore.  _ Muggle clothes? _ Harry asked himself. That didn’t seem right either, not the fact he’s here. _ In a muggle village. _ It can’t be him Harry decided.

Harry had seen Malfoy at the Ministry events he chose to go to, always dressed smartly and chatting politely to everyone, they evaded each other. Since Harry himself went a bit off radar he hadn’t seen Malfoy. The profit lay unread on the table each morning, and thrown away each night. It was all drivel or made up stories, though it still made him laugh when his face would appear on the front, along side one of his close friends, the writer questioning his relationship with the said person. None had been true yet, and never would. His friends were his friends.

The girl from behind the counter  broke him out of this thought train, placing his coffee on the table in front of him. He thanked her. Harry’s eyes lingered on her as she returned to her position at the front of the shop. She was dressed in a green blouse black trousers and dainty kitten heels, she seemed overly happy on such a rainy day but he shrugged it off. 

Harry sat his pen back down on the paper and wrote a rough free verse about the trains though Scotland. About towering bridges between hills, about the untamed rivers and wild greenery that lay beneath. It needed work and more adding to it but they always did in the beginning. He’d spent several months on one piece before, his publishers threatening not to publish if it took much longer, yet making sure it really conveyed what he wanted it to felt more important. And so he sat hours upon hours each day.

He looked up properly for the first time since he started writing and the Malfoy look-alike was behind the counter, in a matching shirt to the girls blouse and was in fact not a look-alike. It was definitely him, and he was definitely staring right back at him. Things hadn’t been great how they’d left them after his trial. Malfoy was  angry at him, _ and with every right to be _ , he’d helped put his father in Azkaban, his mother was given house arrest and his wand no longer seemed to work for him since he’d been given it back. Harry quickly finished the remainder of his drink, pulled on his coat and left the shop, shutting the door behind him. It was all a bit too much to process and he didn’t have the energy to get into a fight with his old school rival today. 

The door jingled after him. Harry didn’t look back and had already set off in the direction of the  closest apparation point, a street away. By the time he got there he was out of breath, the years since the war and lack of exercise taking its toll. Whoever had opened the door after him didn’t follow, and he made it back to his room fight free but lacking his notebook.  _ Shit. _


	3. A grade dick head

It had been three days  and roughly six and a half hours since Potter had visited the Sleepy Fox Cafe.  _ Not that Draco was counting. _ It had been just as long since he’d found Potter’s note book left on the table he’d sat at. He had refused to look in it. Personal belongings should stay private, he’d argued with Mary, the barista who had served him that day. She had kept her mouth shut about it the rest of the day, until they went to leave.

“He writes in it all the time you know,” she told him, wrapping her scarf around her neck, “he comes in writing and leaves writing.” Draco had frowned and placed the book in his bag. “He’s interesting don’t you think?” Mary continued, “I think I’d find anything interesting if he was the one saying it”. He laughed, and tried to cover it up with a cough. Of course she found him dreamy to look at, all the unshaven stubble and hair that nested on his head was attractive. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“I knew him at school, that’s all,” he smirked, “you weren’t the only girl infatuated.” Mary had a twinkle in her eye as she registered this.

“Clearly,” she pushed open the door leading back into the cafe for them, “I bet it wasn’t just girls that felt that way.” Draco’s cheeks pinked, but nothing was said. When lights were turned off and the dishwasher on they left, locking up behind them.

“I just wish he’d get contacts,” she suggested  as they waited to cross the main road, Draco had sighed and agreed, defeated. “His eyes are so green when you actually see them,”  _ she had said like he didn’t already know _ , “it’s a shame to cover them all up.”

They walked together as far as they could, before Mary had to take a different route. Mary’s parents owned the coffee shop, their daughters Mary and Kinley both working there. Draco had been a frequent visitor when it first opened. He lived in the village and during the winter,  _ a year back now it was now _ , had applied and was given a job along with Noah, who was sacked shortly after for being a perfect example of an A grade dick to customers who definitely did not deserve it. Yes customers could be difficult sometimes - but them not knowing the difference between a cappuccino and a latte did not warrant throwing mugs at the door. Draco hadn’t seen him since.

After saying goodbye to her Draco hurried home. He put the kettle on and sat down at his desk in the front room. It was a small house he’d moved into, but after his Mother died he didn’t feel any reason to return to the Manor. The house elves had been freed, the interior redesigned and the house itself put under a number of stasis and ward spells to protect it from harm. He didn’t need a house that big, his new house consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, open plan kitchen dining and lounge area and a front room he used as a study. It was practical and well placed if he needed to go to London, and by attachment any other major city.

_ ‘Potter,  _

_ I have your book. Please come fetch it from the cafe, I’d send it with Coco but she’s too small and I don’t want to fend off Mary from it any longer. _

_ DM’ _

He wrote. The letter was short but to the point, he sealed the envelope and gave it to Coco and she chirped happily before flying out the window. Several hours later a response arrived.

_ ‘Malfoy,  _

_ I’ll be round tomorrow. I’m flattered that you protected it so dearly.  _

_ HJ Potter _

_ P.s You called your owl ‘Coco’?’ _

Draco found himself replying quickly.

_ ‘Potter, _

_ I’d watch your cheek or Mary will joyfully become the owner of a new diary. My Mother named her Coco, after her favourite perfume, not me. A stupid name for a stupidly small bird if you ask me. _

_ DM _

_ P.s Wasn’t yours called ‘Hedwig’?’ _

“Make sure you pester him for a reply this time,” he said to Coco, who fluttered her wings and took the letter gratefully.

_ ‘Malfoy, _

_ That’s fair enough, I won’t question it anymore. And yes she was a lovely owl, just as Coco is. I’ll see you tomorrow. _

_ HJ Potter’ _


	4. To sit and make small talk

_ Stupid bird indeed _ , Harry thought as he wrote the letter it so intently waited for. The past half an hour the little owl had nipped and hit his arm as he tried to get dressed ready dinner at Ron and Hermione’s. It sat on his desk and peeped constantly until he’d had enough. Malfoy had taught the bird well he gave that to him, it was remarkably clever. Letter sent if finished up dinner and went to bed early.

Harry woke up as the sun rose, warm beams of light shifting up the walls as it grew higher across the sky. Today was his last day in the Leaky Cauldron room. The Black house had been redone completely. New paint, new floors, the top floor converted into a guest annex, the remaining rooms redecorated and thankfully the portrait covered up better than before. It would be a comfortable place to live now, rather than old fashioned, dark and outdated.

He got dressed quickly, wanting to get his day over and done with, so that tonight he could sit back in the front room of his practically new house with Hermione and Ron. However as he set out it seemed to him as if the world really didn’t want his day to go that way. 

First, the glimpse he caught of the prophet as he walked downstairs made him out to be hooking up with another witch. _ Seriously?  _ Wasn’t that the woman who worked behind the bar occasionally? Secondly, he stepped into a rather large puddle on his way out into muggle london and had a soggy trouser stuck to his leg until it dried all mud splattered. And the third and worse part of it all was that as he walked into the Sleepy Fox, which was currently empty,  Malfoy laughed and quipped “didn’t realise what you were up to last night would get you so dirty”. He was in a half mind not to just walk straight back out there without his notebook.

“Neither did I,” he uttered looking down at his trousers that looked worse than they did earlier. The blonde muttered something under his breath and the trousers were clean. “Thanks.”

“What do you want? I get the book from the back while its infusing,” He said retying his apron at the back.

“Latte but make it strong.”

“Right you are,” Draco responded pressing several buttons on the machine and turning on his heel and headed into the back room, reemerging with Harry’s note book. “If you want to check no one's read it, I won’t be offended.”

He shook his head, “I trust you.”

“You’re one of few,” he brought the coffee over and sat down opposite his own cup in his hand.

Harry said nothing, the world hadn’t been kind after the war, not to those who had lost just as much as the rest of them.  

Draco noticed his silence, “the ministry’s having another event in a couple of weeks are you planning on shying away again?” Draco laughed, “it’s all some of the older witches can talk about. I’m sure they have a running bet.”

“I doubt it.” Harry said chuckling at the thought, it seemed easy to sit and make small talk with Malfoy over coffee. They fought so much in school, but all the tension from then had disappeared. “I’m not one for the public, not many people understand it anymore.”

“Harry Potter, the chosen one, scared of the newspaper.” Draco sipped at his, pursing his lips at how hot it was. 

“Ironic really. At least Rita Skeeter doesn’t write anymore. You know, Hermione kept her in a jar for a while, when she was a beetle.”

“A beetle?”

“Her animagus.”

“She never ceases to amaze, Mother thought she would be the next Minister for Magic.”

“I think she will too.” Harry smiled at the thought.

They talked till their coffees were finished and a little longer after that too. The amount of customers had slowly been increasing as they got deeper into conversation, Harry eventually moving to sit closer to the till, so they wouldn’t be as interrupted when Malfoy had to serve. When the queue had died off Harry decided it was time to leave. He said good bye, thanked him for the notebook again and left. A small weight that had always been resting off his shoulder felt lighter.


	5. You're hiding something

Despite the new interior,  the Black house still felt empty. The lack of Walburga Black was noticed though and lovingly appreciated. Harry sank down into the new sofa. Give it a week or so and it would feel like home, he told himself. Several minutes later he got back to his feet and found himself started unpacking the first of numerous boxes he had kept and brought over from before the renovation.

He hung up the photos in the hall. Ones from Hogwarts, mixed with ones from after the war, and from those he’d found in Sirius room of his father, mother and their friends. Harry looked back at his handy work and decided now would be a good time to get Ron and Hermione over.

The fire call was quick and very shortly they were standing in his living room both holding what looked like bags of food.

“We knew you wouldn’t have much in so we brought some things.” Hermione smiled.

“Be careful, or you’ll turn into Molly,” Harry joked, following them into the kitchen. “Do you like it?” He asked once the groceries were away and they had familiarised themselves.

“I think it’s brilliant, mate.” Ron said smiling his eyes still drifting off around the room. 

Hermione nodded, “it’s much better than is was, I can see you living here now.”

“I think Neville said he would help me get started with the garden, and Teddy’s said he already can’t wait for it to be finished so he can stay.” Harry grinned at the pair of them.

Harry cooked dinner and opened one of the bottles of wine Ron and Hermione had brought. Countless times Harry had to stop himself from mentioning his reunion with Malfoy. He told them about his new work, and they reminisced about their journeys to Hogwarts until the wine and the three of them were drunk.

The next morning they woke with headaches and backache from sleeping on the lounge floor. Harry was first up and made breakfast for them all. Ron was up next, and came into the kitchen and helped out making the drinks.

Ron stared at him for a short while, he could see right through him. “You’ve met someone haven’t you,” he finally said. 

“How’d you figure that one out?” He replied, confused.

“You about stuff like you did when you liked Ginny. It’s like you’re hiding something but you don’t know you’re hiding it.”

“When I meet this person whoever they might be, I promise you’ll be the first to know,” Harry shrugged.

Ron and Hermione left after breakfast, they both had work to be getting on with, and knew Harry wanted to get properly settled in. Ron and his conversation had left him puzzled. He hadn’t met anyone, had he? The thought was quickly put aside, and he got too on moving in stuff. Before the morning was over, the boxes for downstairs had been emptied, arranged and organised. Harry had fixed the magical parameters so that a TV would work once he brought one.

His notebook stared at him from across the room, and pretty soon Harry was on his on his way to the door, picking up his coat as he disapparated.


End file.
